Falling Apart
by Miss Hydrangea
Summary: SasuHina: They were forced together, and then they fell apart. They lived a twisted fairytale, but she was determined to set the end, at least, straight... Because deep down, she still believed in happily ever afters.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Naruto franchise, thankfully. If I did, it'd almost never be updated, and I'd probably be receiving death threats in the mail. But I'd probably have enough money to hire a slew of bodyguards...

**A/N:** Constructive criticism would be appreciated. I'm trying out a different style of writing, and I'm not sure if it comes out smoothly all the time... If any part seems confusing, let me know, please (the last sentence is purposefully ambiguous, but I don't know if it's convoluted beyond understanding or not).

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**Prologue**

He doesn't realize the reason why she circles their anniversary date in screaming red ink every year is not because she wants to remember the date, but because she's afraid of forgetting. He doesn't realize the reason she tells him she loves him every morning before he leaves (for work) is because she's afraid it isn't true. He doesn't realize, and he doesn't care.

**.oOoxXxoOo.**

They were married in December, and she couldn't help feeling their wedding was the end of something she couldn't quite name. When she tried, it stung her eyes and numbed the end of her tongue like the snowflakes that fell, melting into nothing. Her breath froze into white, much like the dress she wore. The stiff, low-cut lace itched, rubbing raw the skin above where she imagined her heart to be.

It was a small wedding with a quiet reception; he had no family and she had few friends. They sipped their champagne from different glasses, ate from separate plates, rode in different cars to the hotel they'd stay that night. The clerk at the front desk, a woman with grey hair dyed a buttery blonde, smiled knowingly and wished them a good night. He flushed red; whether it was the alcohol or embarrassment, neither woman could tell. The wet, muddy hem of the wedding dress was the same color as the roots of the clerk's hair.

He opened the door to the room and held it open with the side of his arm as he entered, without looking back. Grabbing the rough lace with her fists, she followed, her train dragging along the matted carpet. He let go of the door before she was through, but she, too, was able to prop it open with her elbow long enough to pull the frilly swathes of lace and silk and fabric through the hotel room door. That night, as she showered (alone; he had showered first, leaving her on the bed as hard as a platform and cold as the altar of an empty church) and felt the cold water pelt her skin like dying snowflakes and saw her breaths cloud the mirrors like angry ghosts, she felt somehow smaller than before. She had expected to come out of the wedding bed, in which she and her husband both had participated as obliged actors, stiff and quiet, as something more (a woman, perhaps?) or at the very least the same as she had been before. Never had she imagined she would be something less, for joining with a man. Watching the water run in rivers down her legs, and feeling the ache somewhere so deep it couldn't possibly have been physical, she wondered if she had lost something important, there on that bed which did not belong to her (or him).


	2. The Betrothal

AN: This fic has not been updated in an embarrassingly long time. I admit that I was (and still am) intimidated about continuing it, that I felt (and still feel) like I'm not getting it right, no matter how many edits I do. As I mentioned in the previous chapter, constructive criticism would be deeply appreciated. If this chapter is absolutely terrible, I am willing to re-write it.

This chapter backtracks a bit to before the wedding. I hope you enjoy it!

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He had always been beautiful, although it had never mattered to him. She, on the other hand, could never remember liking the girl in the glass, although her disappointment had settled into resignment when the quavering child in the mirror became a wary-eyed woman. It came as a surprise, therefore, that quick-falling evening when he arrived at the house she had hoped would be her own (_if she could earn it_) and asked the Head for her hand.

She would not have even known about it, if she hadn't come back late from practice to see his slow and even steps pooling with graceful control towards the house like black ink calligraphy. She was reeking of weakness and frustration from sparring with their expectations, from trying so hard she sweat tears or cried sweat, she was not sure. He was through the door before she could even say hello, the quiet click of the lock replying to her greeting in his stead.

The Father of the House that was never quite hers made the decision with Elders who were never quite her uncles in all of ten minutes, as Hinata felt her heart beat-beat-breaking outside the paper walls of the room. They knew she could hear, but it didn't matter. They didn't need her signature for the documents—it would have been an unnecessary formality. There was no question that she would do her poorly executed best to follow their will, and success was most easily achieved without her.

_Tap_. The stamp of a fingerprint, one that had never touched her until now.

_Shish_. His signature, his claim on her life.

_Tap_. The stamp of the Hyuuga Head, giving her away far before the wedding day.

Returning to the quarters she liked to call her own (_and wouldn't for much longer_), she was surprised to find that her eyes were dry.

It wasn't until days later that she heard the reason, as she visited her cousin in the hospital. She thought, idly, that he could have been her half-brother. Like her, his existence was the one mistake too many, except his only mistake was surpassing the expectations meant for herself. They were playing shogi. It was a habit, and comfortable. Without breaking the quiet _tap_-_shish_-_tap_ of shogi pieces sent to battle, he remarked, "The Council wants him to create more ties to the village. They don't trust him not to run away again."

She paused. The specter of _him_ stayed her hand before the rhythm of tap-shish-tap resumed. She looked up at her cousin, but his eyes were on the war-torn wooden board before them.

And then there were the other reasons, reasons she didn't need perfect Hyuuga eyes to see through.

"They decided that it would be best for him to tie himself to our House, because the Hyuuga have the manpower to keep him in line. " _No other Clan would let the man from the clan of traitors take their daughter._

"You were his first choice." _He needs a bride. A bride who will let him rule her, but provide strong offspring to repopulate his Clan. _

She could have laughed at the irony, that her pedigree was strong enough to meet his approval, while she herself was weak enough for her Clan to approve the union as well. Instead, for the first time since she heard the tap-_shish_-tap that sealed her fate without her, she cried, tears bleeding onto the battle-worn wood.

Neji packed up the pieces of the unfinished battle before them, wishing that wood pieces were the only pawns in the world, or that all pawns could be unfeeling as wood.


End file.
